


her officer, his lady

by akastarlord



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Frontier AU, Mutual Pining, beware the romance novel cliches, but they are too stubborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akastarlord/pseuds/akastarlord
Summary: Frontier AU. Fort Cloud was off any and all maps. Placed right in the middle of nowhere, a small military station for training up and coming soldiers, and keeping watch on any band of brutes or bandits that may come riding through.Not the ideal place to be, but after being left being left behind by the stagecoach, that’s exactly where Claire found herself stranded. She sort of saw it coming, what with her luck during the entire trip, losing half her luggage, catching ill, and now stuck in the middle of no where, what Claire didn’t expect was to run into the man she had been madly in love with years ago, Owen Grady. Or, as he was now known as Captain Grady, an officer at Fort Cloud.It would be a while till anyone could come back and take Claire to her proper destination of Dallas. But, to remain at the safely stay in the fort till then, Claire had to have a ‘temporary’ marriage to one of the officers.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> so i finally broke down and got myself an ao3 account, gosh. this story is already on my tumblr, but i figured i could try posting it here as well. anyway! this is a real passion project, and very self indulgent of me. so beware of romance novel cliches and two idiots who need to say 'i love you' already.
> 
> based off the fort gibson officer series

_August 5, 1844. Only God knows where, America_

_So, began another day. It seems as if the past two weeks has melted into one, I can barely even recall leaving Boston. I knew I would be in for a rather long trip, but nothing would have truly prepared me for it. Each morning, rising before the sun even gets a chance to peek over the horizon, and eating a breakfast of questionable edibility._

Claire pauses in her writing, a grimace coming to her face. It practically pained her to even think back about the cold she had suffered only a day into the trip. That was only before the stagecoach driver had ‘misplaced’ her luggage somewhere back in Illinois, leaving her with only one trunk to live out of.

Taking a breath, Claire resumes her writing.

 _It will be worth it in the end. Oh, to finally see Karen again after all these years. Even if I do arrive to her in a mess._ _Honestly, I do not believe it was any mistake that repugnant stagecoach driver ‘forgot’ my luggage, he’d probably ‘forget’ me at a stop if he could—_

A long and splotchy line stained the rest of the page as the stagecoach rocked heavily from side to side. The jar of ink she had balanced between her knees spills a few dark drops onto her dress. It only added to the disarray state her dress was in. The soft lavender color lost in smudges of dirt, dust, and now blotches of ink. Capping the jar quickly, Claire tucks it away along with her journal into her bag before the stagecoach could go over another bump or drop into another dip.

Ever since they rolled into the new state, it had been nothing but endless flat land of dirt, or tall grass, and lots of rocks to rattle the cramped stagecoach.

“Young lady.” The elderly lady who sat next to Claire scolds, for no less than the hundredth time since leaving Boston, “I insist you make more room.” She announces with a shove of her bony elbow, right into Claire’s still sore stomach.

A few choice, and decidedly unladylike words rise in her throat, but Claire bites them back. She may have been in the middle of nowhere, but that was no excuse to act out in anyway that would have gained a disapproving glare from her grandmother. God rest her. Instead, Claire gave the elderly woman an apologetic nod and scooted over the best she could.

Still her hands squeezed into tight fists as she imagined giving the woman an earful, just as everyone else in this cramped infernal wagon wished they could.

Another bumpy ride over more rocks made Claire's face a tint of green, and her stomach churned in protest. Obviously, the questionable breakfast did not agree with her. Not one bit.

Claire swallows hard as she calls out shakily, “When is the next stop?”

“Soon.” The driver hollers back, clearly agitated.

Claire grits her teeth at his tone, but soon feels relief flood through her at the sight of a smoother path that lead to a fort that was walled off, a look out tower in each corner. She kept a quiet hope that there was a shop where she could purchase some mints to ease up her stomach, as she plucked her change purse from her bag.

When the stagecoach came to a stop, Claire was the first out, practically barreling down the driver.

The grimy old geezer swore after her. “Lady! We won’t be here for long! Ten minutes, top!”

Waving her hand, Claire ventured further in the small first area of the town. A building here and there, all spaced out. The one in bright red bricks and white shutters practically made Claire’s heart leap. A commissary!

“Please be open, please be open.” Claire pleads in a soft whisper, walking quickly over to the building. The door was shut, along with the windows. Leaning up on her toes, she peered into the window. Empty and dark. With a disappointed sigh, she turns away. Her eyes darting around, before catching sight of another path way that lead into the next part of town where more buildings stood. This time, more closely together. Biting on her lip, Claire wondered if she had the time. When her stomach growls loudly and she decided that she would make the time.

With more brisk steps than her grandmother would have ever allowed her to take, Claire made her way down the path. The pungent smell of coal, smoke, and gunpowder filled her senses. A blacksmith’s shop was nearby, and from the sounds of clanging and loud swearing, at full work.

Claire's nose wrinkles at the foul scent, and holds her wrist over it. Not that it provided much help. But the fading scent of vanilla soap on her skin was still more pleasant.

Passing more buildings, her fading hope was restored at the sight of one of the smaller ones, that simply read ‘SHOP’ in faded red paint over the open door. With a relieved sigh, Claire rushes in. The shop was empty, save for the owner at the counter and a tall man with his back towards her in the corner. Smoothing her dress and fluffing her hair to look the best it could, Claire walked with practiced ease up to the front counter and presented the owner with a polite

smile. “Good afternoon, sir.” She greets. A snorted snore is the only response she get. Claire pauses, and tilts her head. The man’s eyes were wide open! How on earth could he be asleep? Claire raised a hand hesitantly and waved it in front of his eyes. “Sir? Hello, sir? Sir!”

“Snnrk!” The old man jolts awake, and scowls. “Y’ain’t gotta shout. I’m awake.” He griped, and gave Claire a once over. “Where’d you come from?”

“The stagecoach.” Claire replies. “Sir, do you have any peppermint sticks?” She asks hurriedly. Too much time was being wasted.

The owner grumbles, scratching his chin before leaning down. When he sat up right again, he placed a jar filled with peppermint candies, and Claire practically felt her mouth water and stomach already easing.

“Yep. I got ‘em. Eighty-five cents for ‘em” The owner says.

Claire smiles. “Wonderful. I will take fifteen cents worth, please.”

“No.” The old man shakes his head. “I said eighty-five cents.”

Claire stops counting her money and turns her head slowly to the owner. “I beg your pardon? I’m not buying all of them. Just fifteen cents worth.”

“He likes a good bargain.” A new voice comments. Claire barely turned her head to see who it was exactly that spoke. She saw a glance of the tall man standing to the back corner of the shop, before turning her glare back to the shopkeeper. “

Sir, what you’re doing is far from ‘bargaining’. It’s out right thievery.” Claire accuses with a sharp hiss.

The old man shrugs carelessly. “Fine. Seventy-five cents then, ma’am.” He bargains, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “Say now…” He hums thoughtfully after. “Might that be the stagecoach y’said you rode in on?” He says, his eyes squinted at the window.

Sure enough, the stagecoach rattled on by. A horrified gasp leaves Claire as she watches the wagon made it's way further from the shop, and without a second thought, she's running after it.

“Wait!” She cried out, waving her arms over her head. “Stop! _Wait_!” She yelled. No match for the speed of the horses, Claire stops short and scoops up a stone in her hand. Praying that it would catch their attention and maybe even knock out the driver.

It had been ages since she played rounders. But she remembered as a child, having a pretty good arm for it. Pulling her arm back, she flings the stone with all the might she could muster. The stone went soaring far and then landed…no where near the stagecoach. It just kept moving on, further and then, out of sight.

Claire stands there still, practically rivaling a statue. A flabbergasted look on her face, as the wind blew past her, raising more dust and a lonesome tumbleweed bouncing by.

“Gee, with an arm like that, they would have you on the national baseball league, don’t you think?” Someone asked. The same voice from the shop. The tall man…

Claire scowls. The man basically watched as her transportation left without her, and stood by and did nothing? Then had the gall to make a joke. “Sir, this is not a humorous situation.”

“I’m sure you could find it so if you tried hard enough.” He counters easily. She could almost hear an idiotic grin on his face. At that Claire feels like her blood could practically boil and rounds on him, ready to slap him. Verbally or physically? She wasn’t sure yet.

Again, Claire froze. But this time, it felt like the earth stopped moving along with her as well.

A face she thought she had seen the last of eight years ago stared right back at her, no doubt, feeling the same way she did. He stands there quiet, his eyes watching her, as almost doubting that she was there.

Against her better judgement, Claire speaks first. Her voice soft, wavering “Owen?” He tenses, and finally he blinks as if trying to pull himself back to reality.

“Claire…” He breathes. Claire covers her mouth, fighting back the gasp that threatened to escape her. Eight years. Eight years since she had her heart broken, and eight years to pick up all the pieces by herself. Only to land in front of the man who caused it all.

“I have to go.” Claire muttered, her eyes stinging with gathering tears. Taking a few wobbling steps, Claire tries to pass by before Owen shakes his head, and moves to be by her side.

“What are you doing here?” He asks lowly.

Claire whips her head to him. “Funny enough, I could ask you the same.” She snaps back. Owen lifts a brow, and gently stops Claire from her angered march.

“Are you serious?” He asked, “Claire, you’re in Fort Cloud. A military station.” At that, Claire finally noticed the uniform Owen wore. Sure enough, it belonged to one who would be considered an officer. Claire breathed out in astonishment and shook her head. Is this why he left?

“Let me ask again.” Owen says. “What are you doing here?”

Claire sniffs and squared her shoulders. “It’s not like I want to be.” She huffs with a frown. “You saw how the stagecoach left me. I was only supposed to pass through.”

“Passing through to where?”

“Dallas.” “Dallas.” Owen repeates.

Claire frowns. “Are you an echo?”

Owen snorts. “It’s just I really hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

Claire gives him a weary glance. “How bad is the bad news?”

Owen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The usual route to Dallas, is well, a very long one. Our messenger riders are off way in the other direction.” He points off. “So, until they come back or by some luck another stagecoach comes riding through…”

“I’m stuck here?” Claire wheezes. Again, her stomach began to twist and turn. Owen’s hand coming around her arm lightly to hold her steady as he saw her body begin to sway slightly.

“For now.” Owen nods, looking over her. “You look like you went through hell. What kind of stagecoach were you on?” He asks more softly. Claire gives him a tired look and sighs. Owen feels a slight pang of sympathy. _Slight_. “C’mon. We’ll see what we can do for you.” Claire allows Owen to lead her off the path and to one of the buildings. Her dizzy head spinning as she felt him pull her a bit closer.

*

Owen considered General Morris someone to be firm but reasonable. A man who was like a second father, and would go to any sort of battle should he ask. But now, sitting in the general’s living room, while Mrs. Morris poured another cup of tea for Claire, while the general himself stared Owen down…Owen was really thinking otherwise.

“What are you saying?” Owen asks steadily. “That really can’t be the only way.” He adds. He looks to where Claire sat. She looked every inch worn, but still she held herself with pride and that air of an upper-class lady. Owen grinned slightly, but it fell the instant he remembered the general’s words from before.

“You know the rules better than anyone, Grady.” Morris spoke lowly. “It’s not just here, but every military fort anywhere in the country. No unmarried ladies can reside here.” Owen swore under his breath. Morris turns his attention to his wife and Claire, then back Owen. “You’d know I’d help if there was any other way. Unfortunately, Captain Grady…”

“I know.” Owen replied. “You know.” Morris begins. “You could be the one to help. It would just be a short marriage, at least until we’re able to get Ms. Dearing back on her way home.”

Owen brows furrow and he holds back a sour grunt. Had he still been the younger and more foolish man he was eight years back, he would have jumped at the chance of becoming Claire Dearing’s husband. Times change though, and so do people he came to learn. It was a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.

“Marriage?” Claire’s voice whispers breathlessly. Both men freeze. They hadn’t even notice that she had come over to them. Her eyes are wide, and an unmistakable color of pink on her cheeks. “What do you mean by marriage?”

Owen stands there almost helplessly at a loss of words. “…Yeah.” He finally says, wincing at the pathetic answer.

“What Captain Grady mean, my dear.” Morris cuts in. “Is that there’s a strict rule regarding unmarried ladies residing at military forts. They can’t. A quick marriage would be the solution, at least until this situation is resolved and we can get you home safely.”

Claire’s mouth drops open slightly. “Marriage.” She says again, shaking her head. “I-I can’t. Couldn’t it be just a few days that I stay here with you and Mrs. Morris, General?”

Owen breathes in. “I asked him that already. The messengers aren’t due back till late this week, and who knows how far the stagecoach may be by then. In that case, we’d have to send word to whoever in Dallas you were…” “

Karen.” Claire says quickly.

Nodding, Owen continues. “We’ll send a messenger to Karen. She can then come or send for you.”

Shoulders slumping, Claire closes her eyes with a sigh. “This is a bad dream.” She whispers. “Who do I marry? Just some random stranger?” She questions, snapping her eyes open at the sudden realization.

“That’s one scenario.” Morris answers as Owen began to reply. “But from the looks of it. You and Captain Grady are far from strangers I reckon.”

Claire feels every nerve in her tense. Owen? Her marry Owen? Ha. Maybe a few times years ago she would daydream about the day she would walk down the aisle to meet Owen, but for a long time now, she banished the thought.

“I know.” Owen speaks up, as if reading her mind. “Not my first choice either.” He ignores the glare she sent his way. “But like General Morris said, it’d be brief. In name only, too. We’ll have it annulled as soon as we can when you’re leaving.” He explained. “Also, I don’t trust any guy here, save for two, as far as I can throw ‘em.”

Claire was at a lost. She didn’t know if she was supposed to laugh, or cry, or even swear up a mighty storm. Maybe all three. A moment passes by, before Claire finally raised a white flag along side Owen’s. “Okay. Alright…we’ll be married.”

*

“Your blacksmith…is the priest?” Claire hisses. Owen nods. “Baker, too.”

How convenient. Claire holds back the rest of her words as the blacksmith-priest began flipping through a worn-out bible. Her hands holding a messy bouquet of hastily picked flowers. Owen having most likely snatched them up from the field past the barracks. Wildflowers of different colors and shapes, vastly different from the roses Claire had thought she would hold. A small smile curves on her lips, and she holds the flowers a bit closer.

“Alright, so I’ll cut this short. I still got more work to do.” The priest declares, clearing his throat. “Owen, you take Miss Dearing here to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Owen’s eyes look to Claire, and he sees the way she turns her head from him. Her cheeks flushed again. He breathes a quiet chuckle and nods. “I do.” The priest grins, and then turns his attention to Claire. “And you take Owen to be your lawful wedded husband?”

Claire grips the flowers tight and her eyes peek to Owen. He’s watching her, there’s an assuring look on his face and she feels herself relax as she replies softly. “I do.”

The priest claps. “Then y’all are married! Kiss and get out of my damn shop.”

Owen and Claire stare at each other for a moment, both taking quick glances to each other’s lips, seeing who would be the first to move.

Wordlessly, they turn and make their way out of the shop.

*

The suite for married soldiers and their wives were a few joking inches bigger than what Owen was use to staying in. Still, it was better than sharing with three other men. It was cozy enough as well. A bed, a fire place, and a tiny bathroom. Owen was thankful for that one especially.

He turns to Claire to see her reaction, and found her with a far off and distracted look. Was she really regretting this? Sure, Owen had, and was still having a bit of his doubts. But this was all just in name and would be annulled in a few short weeks.

“Claire?” He calls. She hums in reply. He watches as she slowly walks around the room. Her slender hands pressed together as linked and unlinked her fingers. He’d seen that action many times before. She had something on her mind.

“Claire, what’s wrong?” He asks.

Claire sighs and holds her head. “This is wrong. All of it is wrong.”

Owen had no idea why that stung so badly. Even after all the years he spent healing when she practically tore his heart apart. How could he just let those words sting him like that?

“I have to tell you something. About me going to Dallas.” Claire continued. She took a deep breath, and pressed her fingers together more. She could barely look Owen in the eyes as she spoke her next words.

“I wasn’t only going to Dallas to see Karen. I-I was going to Dallas to be married.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, y'all! i'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying the story so far! i know some have asked what series this is based off of and it's the 'fort gibson officers', check it out if you'd like! i've taken some elements from each book but trying to not heavily rely on it too much!
> 
> also a lot is gonna be explained with what happened between claire and owen...sooner or later

_With a long sigh, Claire tugged off the satin gloves from each hand. The night air cooling her heated skin, and flushed cheeks. It had been a strenuous task to slip away from the party. Different guests, all friends or acquaintances of her grandmother’s, stopping her for a chat or to ask too many personal questions for Claire’s liking._

_‘When will you marry, Ms. Dearing? You’re nearing twenty after all!’ Then they’d laugh as if it were simply all in good fun. Claire would smile back, quietly wishing them all a safe passage to hell._

_Music carried from the house and to the garden where Claire hid away. She could still hear chatting and the clinking of champagne glasses, and then the shuffling of feet on the gravel beside her._

_Owen stopped next to her and tilted his head. “Guess my invite was ‘mysteriously misplaced’ for this one as well, huh?” He asks, slipping in Nana Dearing’s favorite excuse. Claire rolls her eyes._

_“You aren’t missing much.” She shrugged her shoulders a bit. “It’s the usual crowd. Greedy bankers, crooked politicians…” She listed. “Oh, and Nana’s gossip ladies from church.”_

_Owen nodded. “Sounds about right. Glad to see that you made it out alive.” He added. His arm weighed down a bit as Claire wrapped her own around it. She tilted her head up and flashed him a smile that made Owen feel like his knees would give out._

_“Of course, I did.” She said, hugging his arm. Leaning up on her toes, she met him halfway and felt his lips press gently to hers. It’s what they’ve done for years now, in secret._

*

No matter what Owen did, Claire’s words still clouded his thoughts. Even after going through gun drills over and over with the new recruits, barking out nearly a dozen orders he could still hear her voice.

_‘I was going to Dallas to be married.’_

It shouldn’t matter to him what Claire was doing, or even who she was going to be rightfully married to. Hell, he’d may even sigh a breath of relief once she was gone, but in the back of his mind, the thought of Claire leaving him again and marrying someone else made his blood nearly feel like fire.

“You look like someone just about pissed in your coffee.” A voice calls, and Owen didn’t even have to bother to turn to see who. He swears under his breath and keeps his focus on the marching recruits.

“Shut the hell up, Faraday.” Owen grunts. Faraday, a second lieutenant and Owen’s best friend, as well as a major thorn in his side, only just saunters around and glances over Owen. The instant he grins, Owen felt an urge to punch it right off him.

“Heard you got hitched. Did one of those traveling ladies make an honest man outta you?” Faraday asks, ignoring the way Owen scowls at him. “What’s her name?”

Owen shakes his head. “One, it ain’t your damn business, and two, it ain’t any of your damn business.” He answers firmly.

“So, it is lady troubles.” Faraday nods. “Where is she?”

Owen rolls his eyes heavenward and lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “She was invited to lunch by Morris’ wife.”

Faraday chuckles. “She’s won over Morris already? You gotta let me meet your wife, Grady.”

“No.” Owen snaps back quickly. This was becoming too much. “She won’t be here for much longer, so don’t get use to the idea of me remaining in holy matrimony for too long.”

At that, Faraday’s brows lift. “What are you…”

Morris’s voice booms and both men freeze to attention “Faraday. Grady.” He stops before the two, his lips pulled into a deep frown. “Faraday, I know there’s a post that you should be present at.” He remarks sharply. Faraday swallows, and his eyes found interest in ground.

“I suppose there is, sir.” He replies.

“Grady.” Morris turns his attention to Owen. “March your team around the outer perimeter, now. Be back by sunset. A man should be able to have dinner with his wife.” He orders. “Claire will be happy to have you home in time for that.”

Owen holds in a sharp breath at Morris’ last words. With a final dismiss, Morris marched away.

Faraday’s head turns to Owen slowly. “Wait…Claire?” He asks, surprise lacing his tone. “Is it _that_ Claire? Shit, Grady.”

“Just shut up and get to your post.” Owen grumbles, turning away and following his recruits.

*

The sun was low, and casting colors of pink and purple against the sky. A sight often clouded by smoke and smog from the factories back home. But here, Claire could even see the stars begin to peek out early against the darker shade of the horizon.

She glances to the table and makes sure that everything is in its place. A small meal of leftovers from lunch, parts of a roasted chicken, steamed vegetables and even two slices of chocolate cake. Morris’s wife was more than happy to keep giving Claire whatever food she could carry.

But she knew she couldn’t rely on the woman’s kindness for the entire time. At some point, Claire would have to make due herself, just until she was sent for…

She looks back to the window, and more stars have come out. It was also then that the doorknob rattles before opening. From head to toe, Owen looks every inch roughed up. But there’s water dripping from his hair and chin, as if he only just splashed a handful of water on his face in an attempt to wash himself up for dinner.

Claire looks over him and tries to find the words to say. She knew she wouldn’t outright admit the worry that had begin to grow in her when he didn’t arrive at the time Morris had promised. Neither would she admit the relief she felt just now seeing him there.

“Sorry.” He says, ending the silence between them. “There was a camp of outlaws not too far out that we came across. We lost track of time…” He trails off and pauses, feeling the water dripping down his head, and wipes his face. “I, uh…would’ve cleaned up better.”

Claire shakes her head. “It’s quite alright. I understand that’s your duty as a Captain.” She says, giving him a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I always am.” Owen replies.

Claire pauses slightly, but squeezes past the bed and dresser, coming around to the table. “Hungry?” She asks, not looking at Owen. “Mrs. Morris practically provided a feast.” She says.

Owen only nods, and reaches over, pulling out the seat for her. Their eyes met for a few heartbeats before Claire sits down, scooting herself in. “Thank you.” She whispers, peeking up to watch Owen take his own seat.

They say grace quickly and begin to eat. It’s more civil than either of them thought or imagined it would be. Far from the last time they had spoken to each other.

Owen chews on his food, his eyes moving from the plate and to Claire. Her hair was shorter than when he left Boston, but not by much. Still the same brilliant red and curls all neatly pinned to the side. Her face still soft, but most of her freckles faded…

A glimmer catches his eye. Around her neck, a silver chain hung there and on it, a ring.

He might as well have swallowed a rock instead of food.

“That from your fiancée?” Owen asks, before he could even stop the words from leaving his mouth. Claire pauses, her fingers wrapping around the ring, and gives only one short nod.

Again, he speaks without thinking. “I didn’t see you wearing it before…” He points out. Claire sighs and sits up straight, setting down her fork.

“It was in my purse. I just remembered I had it in there. I did not want to be flashing it all around while traveling.” She replies, praying that this would be where his questions and suddenly realizations would end. But knowing Owen, it was only just starting.

Owen sets his own fork down. “Pretty damn nice ring, too.” He muses and sits back in the chair. “Am I allowed to know who that was from?”

At that Claire squeezes the napkin on her lap tightly and takes a breath “Nathaniel.”

“Nate.” Owen deadpanned. “Nate Lewis.”

He really didn’t have to ask any further, the exasperated look on Claire only confirms it. She was going to marry Nate Lewis. The stuffy and pretentious son of a wealthy banker back home. Owen recalled the memories of the scrawny boy that would tail after Claire and himself as children, often boasting about his family’s money and stature. He recalled the way that Nate’s eyes would linger on Claire as he tried to persuade her to join him for the day…Owen could also remember shoving him into the mud.

“He has been courting me for the past two years.” Claire informs. At that Owen snorts.

“Oh, has he now? It’s just recently become mutual on both parts rather than just on his?” He asks. A bit more sharply than he intended. Claire’s eyes narrow.

“I’m feeling tired now.” She says curtly. Flinging down the napkin onto the table, she shoves the chair back. “I’d like to go to bed.”

Owen moves his arm and motions to the bed just inches from the table. “No one’s stopping you, future Mrs. Lewis.”

Claire stiffens and stomps a foot. “This is just like you, Owen! You just can never just be civil or act decently!” She accuses, pointing a finger at him. “That’s…why I am I even bothering with this?” She shakes her head. “Ass.” She bites out at the last second.

Owen scoffs, grabbing a piece of chicken, biting into it roughly. “Princess.” He gets out between chews. Claire makes a very unladylike face, grabbing pillows and sheets from the dresser.

“What’re you doing?” Owen asks, watching her as Claire began to work.

Tossing a few pillows onto the tiny couch beside the window, Claire begins to tie a long sheet from corner to corner of the wall. “We may be ‘married’, Mr. Grady. But like hell I’m sharing a bed with you.”

Owen lifts a brow and shakes his head, finally stopping his mouth from moving before he could think over his words. What he wanted to say surely would have Claire put him in the ground.

“That couch isn’t comfy.” Owen says, standing. Claire shoves the sheet aside and gives him a look.

“Who said anything about me sleeping on the couch?”

Owen pauses. His lips turning into a frown. “Oh no. You’re the one who doesn’t want to share a bed, you can sleep on the couch.”

Claire settles onto the bed with a sigh, and pauses, bouncing a few times. The sound of creaking springs fills the room. She could practically feel the springs pressing against her body. “What kind of bed is this?”

“One for us common folk.” Owen retorts. “Keep that up and the barracks will think we have a great marriage.”

“Shut up.” Claire hisses, though the color on her cheeks betray her. She points to the couch. “I’ve done it up quite nicely for you.”

Owen grumbles under his breath, passing through the sheet. “I should be so damn lucky.” He snarled over the top of the sheet. Claire says nothing and lays down, curling up, listening as Owen shuffles around. Grunting as he tries to get at least a comfortable position to rest in.

“Hey.” Comes his voice after a few minutes. Claire sighs and turns over, lying on her back.

“What is it, Owen?”

Owen grins. “Since the stagecoach left with your luggage, I'm just curious, what will you be doing about a change of clothes for tonight and the time you’re here?”

He hears her gasp and sit up quickly on the springy mattress. “Damn it!”

*

Sleep is elusive to both of them. Owen felt his eyes close hours after midnight and Claire just minutes after. The blaring bugle awakes them both at the same time.

Claire can barely tell where she is, as she follows Owen into the mess hall for breakfast. All around soldiers both young and old are speaking loudly and laughing. The pungent smell of strong coffee and burnt ham fills her senses and makes her sick.

“Sit here. I’ll go get some food.” Owen points to an empty spot at the table. Claire drops down, her eyes drooping shut. “Don’t go to sleep, these boys will swipe the food from right under you.” He warns. Claire wants to tell him she doesn’t care if she misses a meal, as long as she could just get one more hour of sleep.

A plate is set before her and Claire’s eyes open wide. A piece of burnt ham, a runny egg and a glob of…whatever, something that had a grayish tint. Her mind went back to Illinois and her hand comes to cover her mouth, holding in a gag.

“Eat up.” Owen says, sitting down by her. “I talked to Morris. Mrs. Morris will be happy to have you over today. Says she’ll also help you out with the dress issue.”

Claire pushes the plate away a bit, only for Owen to bring it back, glaring at a younger cadet that began to reach for it. “She will? She has some spare dresses?” She asks hopefully. Owen chuckles, picking up a tin cup filled with the better smelling coffee.

“I didn’t say anything about spare dresses being handed out, now did I?”

*

“Ouch!” Claire gasps. She shakes her hand and presses her finger to her mouth. The sewing needle remains pointed up in the mess of fabrics. Her shoulders slump. Three hours and she had made no further progress on this dress than stringing together the starting piece.

“No need to rush, dear.” Mrs. Morris encourages. There’s a kind smile on her round face. “We have all day.”

“I’ll be lucky if I sill have my fingers by the end of it.” Claire huffs, looking at the tips of her fingers. Red and a bit swollen from being poked so much by the sewing needle. She sighs and shakes her head. Oh, Nana must be rolling in her grave. She never allowed her granddaughters to touch anything close to labor work, which included sewing. Even cross-stitch was borderline. Claire barely held a needle and thread in her life.

“How’s Owen?” Mrs. Morris asks. “He’s such a fine young man, I can only imagine him as a husband.”

Claire stops her work and looks to Mrs. Morris as if she had sprouted a new head. Owen? A fine young man? “How do you know Owen besides from…um being part of your husband’s army.”

Mrs. Morris looks to her. “Oh, dear. That boy is almost like a son to me and Mr. Morris. When he first joined up, there was something different about him.”

Where they talking about the same Owen here? Owen Grady, brash, arrogant, and a loud-mouth? Claire stares at her, probing on. “How so?”

“Ah, well. Mr. Morris has this thing. Where he invites the most disciplined and trustworthy cadets to dinner. Owen happened to be one of them.”

No, this couldn’t be the same Owen. Mr. Morris went on. “He was the only decent one. Kept his mouth clean of vulgar talk, offered to help me with the dishes and cleaning, and took off his hat for dinner.”

Claire snorted. “Is that all?”

“I’m sorry, dear?”

“Nothing.” Claire says. She glances out the window, outside she can see a platoon marching by. Beside them, Owen calling out orders and commending them. The same Owen that Mrs. Morris had described. “Nothing at all.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for all your comments and kudos, they are what keep me going. this chapter was a doozy to write but one of my favorites. hope y'all enjoy!

It’s another morning of bitter coffee and runny eggs. Nearly two weeks have passed by, and Claire is no where near finding herself use to the horrible breakfast. Owen sits beside her, barely looking anymore hungry than her, though he still made the effort to down the food.

“You can’t always rely on Mrs. Morris feeding you at lunch.” Owen points out.

Claire pokes a fork into the eggs, watching at the yolk spills around the plate. She makes a quiet hum, that answered Owen something along the lines of ‘I hear you but shut up.’ She tosses the fork down and rubs the heels of her palms against her eyes. “How long does it take a mail carrier to come back here?”

“They’re riding all the way from Kentucky, Claire. You’ll have to give them some time.” He answers dryly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Nate has a search party out for you, anyway.” He adds.

Claire turns, and through her messy bangs stares Owen down. If she weren’t so tired and so hungry, she would have given him a real piece of her mind. Ever since he found out that she was set to marry Nathaniel, he had been acting like a child. Maybe she wasn’t acting any better, either.

“Maybe he does.” Claire agrees, pushing her plate away. Faraday, across the table, catches it and starts to eat quickly, ignoring the glare Owen sends in his direction. “Either way, I’m leaving this hell hole.”

“We’ll have been so honored to have to graced us with your presence, Lady Claire.” Owen scoffs, bowing his head mockingly. Claire rolls her eyes heavenward and stands, climbing from the table bench.

“Ass.” She snaps, storming to the doors of the mess hall. Owen rubs a hand over his face, swearing at himself. For once, he wishes he could learn to just shut his mouth. He stands to follow Claire but doesn’t miss the shit eating grin on Faraday’s face.

“I’m guessin’ the honeymoon is over?” He asks, only to get a view of Owen’s middle finger as a reply.

Outside, Claire barely waits for Owen as she begins her walk to General Morris’s house. Already she can feel her fingers aching at the pokes and pinches of the sewing needle she would feel. The gown itself, barely made any progress. Claire winces at the thought of the state of it. One sleeve barely hanging by a thread and the other sewed too tightly, it seemed shorter than the other.

_Thank you, Nana.’_ Claire thinks bitterly. _‘I’m sure this is exactly what you had in mind for me…’_

Marlys Dearing had been a very stern woman, all of Claire’s life. After the passing of her parents when Claire was only nine, her grandmother has stepped in to raise the Dearing sisters. She practically hovered over them, watching each step and move they made, priming them both to be the most elegant young ladies in Boston. Hoping that each would marry into fine and wealthy families.

While it may have worked for Karen, marrying into the Mitchells, a family of well known architects. Buy Claire was another story. Marlys often caught her sneaking away with some boy who she had known since childhood. Owen Grady barely had a cent to his name and worked at a local horse corral.

It was tragedy waiting to happen in Marlys’s eyes.

When Owen catches up to Claire they both remain silent on the rest of the walk to the Morris' apartment. Claire feels it to be odd. She’s not use to it still, being so close to Owen after all this time and not holding his hand. Not hearing him making a ridiculous joke and laughing along with him.

It’s all wrong. For the briefest moment, Claire wonders, if maybe, there could be time to fix it.

Owen knocks on the door a few times, and soon Mrs. Morris is there. She greets them happily, ushering Claire in. Owen doesn’t speak, and only nods his goodbye to Claire. She catches a look in his eyes, one she hadn’t seen on him since that night years ago.

Claire keeps her thought quiet. Maybe there would be time.

*

Saturday arrives with rain. Dark clouds that seemed to have lingered so far off in the distance roll over the small fort in a matter of minutes, bringing with it a downpour and howling winds.

Claire rubs her fingers, her dress and the sewing kit set down for the day. Thankfully in the past few days, Mrs. Morris took pity on Claire and helped her learn how to properly sew, even stitching up the sleeves more correctly.

It also gave Claire time to think properly, of what she could say to Owen. Perhaps they sort out their difference, and still, if she left and he wanted her to, at least she’d leave with a clear mind and heart.

Thunder claps loudly and startles both Claire and Mrs. Morris. The women glance to the front window. The forms of soldiers pass by and orders are being shouted over the harsh wind and rain. Claire feels a certain unease wash over her. Storms had never bothered her, there had been more than her fair share of them back in Boston, but there was something about this one that made her stomach feel like dropping.

“Are all the storms here this terrible out here?” She asks.

Mrs. Morris tilts her head slightly from side to side. “Oh, it often depends. Some are just simple showers. Others practically look like end times.”

End times was a term too soft. The sky only grew darker with each passing minute, the windows rattling with every gust.

The door swings open, causing Claire and Mrs. Morris to jump once more. General Morris flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry, winds strong today.” He says shuffling inside, Owen right behind him.

A wave of relief floods over Claire. Their eyes meet, and he glances back to the storm outside. “Do you want to stay here, or should we risk going to our bunk?” He asks, turning back to her.

Mrs. Morris shakes her head. “Owen, you and Claire will not be stepping into that storm!” She demands, standing from her chair. At that, Claire shakes her head.

“Mrs. Morris, I’m afraid we’d be over staying our welcome.” Claire says. General Morris holds up a hand to his wife, quieting her next protest. “I-I need to speak to Owen, as well.” She says, peeking in his direction. He looks at her a bit puzzled at her statement but nods.

“Then we should hurry.” He says, looking to Claire as she came to his side. Moving, he tugs off his coat and holds it over her head. It brings Claire closer to him and he can’t help the smile that crosses his lips. With a final goodbye to the Morris’, they set off.

It’s a rougher walk than usual. The whirling wind causing them to fumble in their hasty walk.

Claire stumbles in the mud, her hands reaching over to cling onto Owen’s shirt. He looks down to her, his strong arm wrapping around her waist, helping to guide her more easily. The rain began to fall harder, stinging their skin.

“Claire.” Owen calls over the storm. “Hold on, we’re practically there.”

Claire sputters, moving drenched strands of her hair from her face, she can only nod and ducks her head down further, gripping more tightly to him. Lightning strikes, nearly too close for comfort. Claire yelps, jumping.

With a loud swear, Owen gathers up, and bolts the rest of the way with her in his arms.

Claire hides her head against his neck, her eyes shut tightly. The rain stops pelting down on her, and she no longer feels the wind blowing her hair around in each direction. Opening one eye, she sees the familiar interior of the barracks, and soon, their room.

Owen looks to Claire, checking each inch of her face and body for any cuts or bruises. “Are you alright?” He asks quickly, catching his breath. Claire sniffs a bit, nodding. Neither she or Owen made a move to set her down.

“I’m fine.” She says. A silence falls over them. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came between them when Owen would walk her to the Morris’s and then back home. It was different.

Before Claire could speak, Owen carefully sets her down. “Let me get a fire started.” He mumbles, going to the fireplace. Claire suddenly misses his arms holding her, not knowing exactly how much Owen ached to hold onto her as well.

Claire grabs the thin towels that hung up behind the door, squeezing water from her hair. She lays the other over Owen’s shoulder. Owen mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ as he keeps working to light a fire.

Outside, the storm howls louder and louder. Again, that sinking feeling begins to settle in Claire’s stomach. This time, along with a pounding headache, one she had never felt before. From the small window, she can see in the distant, just outside the fort, a twisting and turning of clouds.

Claire drops the towel. “Owen?” She calls barely above a breath. “Owen…”

Owen turns away from his work and sees the ashen look on Claire’s face. He follows her gaze out the window to see the funnel like shape come touch the ground. His own eyes widen, and before he even speaks he has Claire back in his arms.

“Down!” He yells.

Owen has Claire in a corner, hunched over her. His body shielding her own, and his arms over her head. The sound of glass shattering echoes in the room, and again the wind howls angrily around them. Claire screams, shutting her eyes. Without another thought, her own arms come up, and wrap around his head, shielding him as well.

It was unlike anything Claire ever heard before, a loud screeching roar. Around them the building shakes. Owen presses closer to her, and Claire clings to him harder. She doesn’t dare open her eyes, not till the roaring comes to a stop.

*

The cadet rubs his arm nervously but stands at attention under Owen’s gaze. Claire sweeps up more glass from the floor, her eyes darting to Owen and the cadet now and then as she tries her best to listen to the small exchange.

“The twister.” The cadet says. “It was outside the fort, n-no casualties, thankfully. But we did get some damage to the west wall and barracks there. Uh, General says there’s a growing settler’s village in the way it went. He wants us to head there and check on the people. Bring provisions if needed.”

Owen nods at that. “We’ll head out in an hour. Bring extra provisions. I know there’s also a native’s village along the way, I’d like to keep the peace we have with them on good terms.”

The cadet salutes, and leaves. Claire quickly busies herself with sweeping. “That was my first twister. I’ve heard and read about them. It doesn’t come close to what we saw last evening.”

Owen chuckles. “They are far and few between.” He assures her. Claire sets the broom down, coming to his side. 

“Will…” She starts. “Will you be alright?” She asks. Owen looks to her a bit surprised at her question.

“I’ll be just fine.” He answers. “Claire.” He says after. “You said you wanted to talk to me last night. About what?”

Claire doesn’t get the chance to answer when the sound of a bugle blares. Horses neighing, and stomping fill the air. Owen feels his heart nearly sink.

“What is that…” Claire asks, as she took a quick glance out the window to see a group of men riding in.

Owen grabs his bag, heading out, as he spoke over his shoulder. “It’s your lucky day, Claire. Mail carriers are here.”

*

It was a hastily written letter. Not her best penmanship, and she thinks maybe she spelled a word or two wrong. Still, Claire gives the letter to the mail carrier, with great reluctance. She’s thought once, or twice about tearing it up. But still, she gave it over. Now it would be another few weeks or nearly a month of waiting.

The sun hung high, the skies a brilliant blue as if no storm had ever blown through. Claire tried her best to keep herself busy. She helped Mrs. Morris clean her own mess and was able to haggle with the shopkeeper (who was still a thief in Claire’s eyes) for a dark clothed curtain to hang over the broken window till it was repaired.

By the time the sun began to sink for the night, Claire began to worry. Should it take this long for a supply run? Where was Owen, was he safe? She huffs. After the way he acted so sullenly after the mail carriers arrived. She barely got a goodbye out of him. 

For a second time that day, the noise of horses entering the fort caught her attention. Only this time, there was uneasy shouting. Claire moves the curtain, and feels her heart skip an entire beat. There’s a flat wagon and a body laid out across it. Soldiers crowding around it, blocking her view.

“No.” She breathes, darting out of the room. “No no no no.” She repeats, nearly flying down the stairs. ‘It’s not him, it’s can’t be. It’s not Owen’ Claire tries to ease the growing distress in her. Outside, she reaches the clamoring group, forcing herself pass them. At the flat wagon, she sees Faraday and Morris speaking, both catching the sight of her.

“Miss-” Faraday begins.

But Claire doesn’t hear anyone, or anything. She just sees _him_ lying there, unresponsive.

_“Owen!”_


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (whoops that took way too long to update. sorry, y'all. life got hectic, and i took a long break from social media and stuff anyway...)
> 
> i know i left y'all on a cliffhanger but i'm here to fix that now. i'll try not to do that again...TRY. love y'all and hope y'all enjoy!

_ It happened so fast…’ _

Claire forces her hands to remain steady. Her fingers tremble almost painfully as she pulls back the hastily applied scraps of cloth on Owen’s side. There was blood, too much blood.

_‘A settler was half crazy, yellin’_ _on about his family being missing. Owen tried to keep him calm, until the guy grabbed a pistol and just…’_

Faraday’s words played over and over in her head. Shot. Owen had been shot by someone he was trying to help. A surge of different emotions fills her all at once. Fear, anger, desperation…

“It doesn’t look good.” Came a remark from the doctor that stood by the bed. Claire wanted to turn and slap him.  _ That  _ was all he had to say?

“Then help him.” Claire hisses, keeping her eyes on Owen. Faraday and a few other men had carefully brought him up to their room while the fort’s doctor was called on. The old man has only stood by, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, while making statements on the obvious. “Or do you just intend to stand there?”

The doctor seems ruffled by her jab, but still comes over and begins to observe the wound. The sight of Owen’s blood and torn skin nearly burn into Claire’s eyes and she knows it’s a sight that will never leave her mind.  There’s a gentle pull on her arm and Faraday’s voice mumbling.

“C’mon, Claire you don’t need to see any of this.”

Claire tugs her arm away, her eyes narrowing on the man. “I do. He is my  _ husband _ .” She snaps. There was no time to take in the look of surprise on Faraday’s face, or the surprise at herself for her words. She looks back to Owen “I’m staying with him.”

*

It was a long grueling two-hour ordeal. It felt like an eternity had passed for Claire. The doctor had been able to locate the bullet and was able to remove it. The wound had been cleaned and somewhat sterilized against infection. At least that’s what the doctor claimed.

Claire feels more tired than the day she arrived at Fort Cloud. It was like fate was doing it’s best to drive Owen and Claire apart. Their constant head butting, arguing, a twister, and now Owen on the brink of life and death.

“Owen.” She whispers, her voice wavering. He doesn’t respond. His eyes remain shut, his chest barely moving with breath. Claire swallows back a growing sob in the back of her throat. “Hold on. You have to hold on.” She encourages. She doesn’t know if the words will do any good. Or if he can even hear her.

Claire moves her hand to his, holding on. “Don’t go.” She pleads. She remembers the words she said to him all those years back, whispering just as softly as she did then. “Stay with me.”

Owen’s fingers twitch, weakly.

*

Faraday has never seen such a look of fury on one woman. Her eyes were dark, and her skin seemed to nearly glow red, but that could’ve just been his imagination. Still, Claire seemed furious enough to make it possible.

“You’re a sham!” Claire accuses, her finger pointing to the doctor. “You are letting him  _ die _ !”

The doctor blanches. “W-” He struggles to find his voice. “Watch yourself, miss and how you speak-”

Claire doesn’t even let him finish before she’s speaking over him. “You said he would heal within three days, it’s been five and still he is no better. He has gotten an infection because of your incompetence!”

Faraday listens quietly from the corner of the office. She was not wrong. He saw how much worse Owen’s wound appeared over the days, and how much weaker he was becoming.

Claire stares down the doctor as he tries to explain various excuses as to why Owen had taken a turn for the worse. Anything to keep the blame from himself.

“Perhaps he’s just given up.” The doctor grumbles. “Not much I can do on a man whose given up.”

At that, Claire squeezes into a fist. It takes a great strength of willpower to not swing it at his face. There is nothing else that she can say without swearing the man straight to hell. She turns, storming from the office.

Faraday looks to the doctor. “Boy, you’re in for it.” He warns, shaking his head. “General Morris ain’t gonna be glad to hear that’s what you have to say about his best Captain.” He adds, heading out after Claire, slamming the door behind him.

“Claire.” He calls out. “Wait a moment, please.”

Claire comes to a slow stop. By now he can see the dark in her eyes have been replaced by gathering tears. “I don’t have time, Faraday. I need to get back to Owen.”

“That’s the thing. I think…” Faraday starts, he trails off, looking around before speaking more quietly. “I think there’s something, uh, someone who has something that could help with the infection.”

“What?” Claire demands, her head lifting a bit. “What is it?”

Faraday knew these next few words could land him right into hot water. Not only with General Morris, but Owen too if he made it through this. “There’s a lady.” He begins to explain. “She’s a recluse. But she deals in remedies. I hear she has one that can help heal infections. She lives a bit away though, I could go and try to bring it back.”

Claire pauses, a series of thoughts seem to cross over her face before she replies slowly “I-I should come, too.”

Faraday shakes his head quickly. “No, you shouldn’t. You need to stay with him. Anything could happen while we’re gone. Besides, if Grady found out I took you out to the wilderness, he’d kill me a thousand times over.”

“I’m going.” Claire says, pushing down the shakiness in her throat. “I can’t…I can’t keep just sitting around. Not doing anything for him. I need to go too. One of the cadets from his troop can keep an eye on him. Please, Faraday. I want to do this.” She says. Her eyes look into his, and not for a second, even with the gathering tears does she look away. Faraday is the first to drop his head, sighing deeply, a few swears coming from under his breath.

“Alright. Against my damn best judgement.” He grumbles. “We’ll head out a nightfall.”

*

The sun had long set over the western horizon, giving way to a nearly starless night, the moon barely visible. It shown only as a thin silver slit in the sky. It was both a blessing and an omen. While it made it easy enough for Claire and Faraday to slip out of the fort unnoticed. But only darkness surrounded them. Damages from the twister along the path they took, made the trip much longer than needed.

Faraday kept his eyes ahead, guiding his horse along carefully for Claire’s to follow.

“Are we there?” Claire asks quietly. Faraday mumbles back a low ‘Nearly’ that Claire almost misses. A sigh leaves her, her fingers gripping the reins tightly. Her mind wanders back the miles they’ve traveled, to the fort where Owen remained, under the watchful eye of a trusted cadet.

Owen had looked so helpless and weak. His sun kissed skin now pale and sickly. Whatever they were going to retrieve, she prayed would change everything back to the way Owen had been just days before.

“Stop.” Faraday’s voice came. The light of a campfire brightened the darkness. Behind it, a makeshift house stood, where strands of lines hung various plants and cloths. “This is it.”

Claire felt a sense of dread flare up. This was nearly something out of a scary story with a scheming witch. She quickly pushed the anxious thought away and slipped down from the horse as Faraday did his. The two carefully step forward, only to come to an instant halt at the sound of a clicking rifle. Claire stiffens. Perhaps she pushed that anxiousness away a bit too quickly.

“What do you want?” A raspy woman’s voice asks.

Faraday’s hands come up slowly. “We don’t mean harm. We just need help.” He says calmly. Claire turns her head slightly in time to see an old woman stepping from the side of the house, a large rifle pointed to them.

“What kind of help?” She demands. “I don’t help just anyone.”

“My husband.” Claire blurts out. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “My husband was shot. The wound got an infection, the doctor is useless and I’m running out of options. Please…” She says, lowering her voice. “I don’t, I really can’t lose him.”  _ Not again _ .

There’s a quiet and tense pause between the three. The woman’s eyes narrowing suspiciously on Faraday before she looks to Claire. “You come inside. Soldier can stay out here.” She mutters, stepping into the tiny house.

Faraday opens his mouth to protest, but Claire lifts a silencing hand. “Just wait.” She says, before following the woman.

The smell of must and spice fills the air inside. The woman walks around the table, checking different bags and boxes. “So, your husband. He’s a soldier, too?” She asks idly. Claire feels her heart racing. She didn’t realize how often she had been using that word to address Owen. Husband.

“Yes. He’s a captain.” She explains, keeping an eye on the woman. The woman hums, giving a shrug.

“Had a husband myself once. Soldiers killed him.”

A lump forms in Claire’s throat. “O-Oh.” She squeaks. “I-I’m sorry…”

At that, the woman laughs. “Don’t be. He was mean as a snake and a damn criminal. Glad when I got to put him in the ground.” She brushes a soft purple powder into a bag. “I lived peacefully next to a Cheyenne village, a woman taught me a few herbal remedies before that bastard came along and ruined my life.” She explains with a huff. “It’s not often I see a woman come here to save her husband.”

“No?” Claire prompts, her hands wringing together as she begins to take in the sight around her. Jars and vials decorated the walls with plants both familiar and strange to her.

“No.” The woman shakes her head. “They often come to get rid of them.” She finishes with a grin. “I know you have to really love him.”

The last few words hit Claire like a wave. The woman places a pouch in her hands and closes Claire’s fingers over it. “Coneflower. Good for fighting and preventing infections. Use this twice a day, flush it with salt water and keep his bandages clean.”

Claire holds the pouch close, nodding wordlessly. The woman purses her lips and smiles. “Go on, get back to your husband.”

When Claire steps back outside Faraday is nearly pacing a hole into the ground. He stops and looks to her. “Did you get it?”

Claire looks to the pouch, holding it for him to see. “We need to get back to him. Now.”

*

There isn’t a night that passes where Claire even dares to sleep more than fifteen minutes. It takes time, but the coneflowers do the trick. Slowly, the infection began to heal as well as the wound itself. Now and then, Owen would come to, mumble a few unintelligible words before knocking right back out. His breathing became regular and color returning to him.

“Claire.” Owen grunts. Claire stops wrapping the bandage around him, looking to him. His eyes are open, looking right to her. “You…you’re here. Really here, huh?”

“Where else would I be?” Claire asks with a small smile, as she begins to wrap the wound again. Another nonsense talk. Owen breathes a few times, wincing at the pain still lingering on his side. “No. Me.”

Claire looks to him puzzled. “You? What do you mean by that?”

Owen stays quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t here for a bit.” He says quietly. Claire stops her work.

“What?” She whispers.

Owen closes his eyes, and Claire sees the drops of tears that slip down his face. “I think I died. I saw light, heard nothing. But then there was your voice. I heard you. You were calling me back. You asked me to stay.” His voice trembles as he speaks, and Claire feels her own body shaking along.

“You saved me, Claire.” He says. Sleep begins to take over him again, but he feels her hand grip onto his. This time, his finger close around her own more strongly. “I’ll stay with you. Stay with me?”

“…yes.” Claire nods. Her lips press to his knuckles. “If you stay, so will I.”


End file.
